


Lines of Dialogue

by smuttyandabsurd



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Historical, Blood, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Historical References, M/M, Mild Blood, Minor Violence, Music, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Physical Abuse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Random & Short, Short, Short One Shot, Summer, Tattoos, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 03:45:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2373302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smuttyandabsurd/pseuds/smuttyandabsurd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short fics from the <a href="http://smuttyandabsurd.tumblr.com/post/98158251530/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-line-of-dialogue-and-ill-write">line of dialogue</a> list as requested on Tumblr. Featuring multiple pairings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trigger Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Pairing:** America/England  
>  **Line of dialogue:** _"Wait right there, don’t move!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First in the [line of dialogue](http://smuttyandabsurd.tumblr.com/post/98158251530/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-line-of-dialogue-and-ill-write) request list. Written unprompted as a warm up. Please enjoy (◡‿◡✿)

Arthur was beautiful.

Oh he wasn’t photogenic, he would argue. He never liked to smile since he was so self-conscious of his teeth, and he wasn’t much of the smiling type either way.

Alfred couldn’t argue with that. It was true that he hardly smiled, but who needed to smile with eyebrows so beautifully crafted for scowling? The scowl _that_ provoked was worth the numbing punch to his arm; the picture he had captured was one of his favourites of Arthur.

“Wait right there, don’t move!”

“What, what is it?”

“I said, don’t _move_!”

“Oh _not_ again, Alfred!”

An irate hand clasped over his camera and thrust it aside. Alfred let out a horrified squawk at the thought of his lens smudging as Arthur drew up to glare in his face.

“One more picture and I will be throwing the damned thing into the lobster tank,” he hissed, ignoring the stares two adult men having a tiff in a seaside family restaurant was inevitably drawing.

So it was with surprise and delight that Arthur agreed to a naked photo shoot. Having him strip off quickly turned into something heavier and breathier – and Alfred was finding just how adorable it was the way Arthur couldn’t keep from simultaneously blushing and glowering into the camera.

“Stop… _leering_ at me,” Arthur panted, bringing the back of his hand to his mouth in a futile and half-hearted effort to stifle himself.

“I’m not leering,” Alfred leered back.

Before Arthur could retort, Alfred snapped forward his hips in a quick, sudden thrust. He let out a groan then, not entirely displeasured, and his comeback forgotten, he tossed back with a muttered, “…fuckin’ pervert.”

The camera strap had plastered itself to the back of Alfred’s sweat-sticky neck. It was uncomfortable, the device weighing heavy in one hand and slippery in his palm, and he was having real trouble focusing with all the movement and poor lighting (Arthur had drawn the line on setting up studio lighting in the bedroom).

But as he snapped picture after picture of Arthur beneath him – legs spread, back arched, arm slid across his eyes and teeth worrying his lower lip, dusky nipples standing pert – Alfred found he couldn’t stop his compulsion.

Arthur was beautiful.


	2. The Flinch in Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Pairing:** Russia/Prussia  
>  **Line of dialogue:** _"Must be a day ending in ‘y’."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by [ladyknightofhollyrose](http://tmblr.co/m8IpRENh1AyVX-8TCMxGX0A), but I think more for my benefit than her own. I was really excited to write RuPru again, especially violent, oppressive and abusive RuPru (⊙‿⊙✿)
> 
> No sexytiems this time, but I think there's enough going on. Please heed the warnings: abuse, blood and violence.

It was another day, another carelessly impulsive remark which earned him Ivan’s wrath. Reeling from the force of the hit, Gilbert fell momentarily deaf and blind as the world erupted into a roar of white noise.

_God it hurt!_

“Why do you say such things?” Ivan whispered in soft, childish reproach.

Gilbert would have barked a laugh if he wasn’t so busy trying to find his feet again, clutching at the edge of his desk for support. His ears continued to ring from the blow, but the white world was coming quickly back into focus as something warm and liquid oozed from his nostrils.

 _I’m fucking bleeding,_  he thought numbly, staring at his red-stained fingers. He fisted his hand, drew up his sleeve, and swiped at his nose with the heel of his palm, wordless in his resignation.

“You’re bleeding.”

He spun around, alarmed at the thought of having his back to Ivan for so long. He made sure to arrange his face into something defiant, but there had been a momentary slip. He had flinched.

“You’re bleeding,” Ivan repeated, concern colouring his childish voice. Yet his bloodshot eyes were cloudy and staring unfocused. His breath also stank of alcohol.

But of course he was drunk.

The cold hard hands that had so callously thrown him before, now cupped to his face. Gilbert gripped the back of Ivan’s wrists, his breathing shallow and erratic as Ivan’s fingers crawled into his hair, seeking purchase. He felt Ivan press a dry, winter-chapped kiss to side of his lips and had to suppress an involuntary shudder.

 _I’m sorry,_  Ivan seemed to be saying. He thumbed at the blood still trickling from Gilbert’s nose, smearing red across his cheek and pecking at his lips once more. _Forgive me,_  he was silently pleading.

Gilbert was feeling quite nauseous; partly from the way the world was still spinning, and partly from Ivan’s drunken fumbling. His breathing whistled as the blood started to clot in his nose. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this, not this again. But try as he might, he couldn’t see a way out.

 _Must be a day ending in ‘y’,_  he thought bitterly.


	3. Climb the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Pairing:** Russia/America  
>  **Line of dialogue:** _"Give me a hand."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by [vodkaliciousunflower](http://tmblr.co/mQYIVCxuRGUAj2nHuQ88UdQ). I'm actually saving a mountain climbing!AU for RuPruFin which is supposed to be about 1000% angstier than this. But here! Have some RusAme fluff!
> 
> I would apologise for the lack of smut, but squint and it's a metaphor. A sexual metaphor. Hoho.

The worst of it was behind them. Though the wind continued to howl in their ears, the sky above was clear, and the snow glittered underfoot like fine sand caught in the sun.

It was still hard going, of course. Where the snow smoothed over hollows or heaped under crags, they were wading thigh-deep in the stuff sometimes. The snow would also cling to the teeth of their snowshoes; their feet felt as if they were strapped to blocks of ice, which was about as comfortable as it sounded.

If there was one thing Alfred had learnt of his partner, however, it was that he had incredible resource. Ivan had hardly slowed in stride even as the incline steepened. But in spite of the cold, in spite of the fatigue, and how his breath was catching in his lungs and scratching at his throat, Alfred found himself keeping up somehow, keeping the rope slack between them.

 _Almost there_ , he told himself as he hobbled after Ivan.

“We’re almost there!” Ivan shouted over his shoulder, pulling down his iced-over muffler. Or at least that was what Alfred thought he heard him say. The wind was snatching at his words.

“Give me a hand!” he yelled back.

He didn’t care how petulant he sounded. Pulling a hand out of its outer glove, he stuck out his arm and repeated his demand to be given a hand.

Ivan looked bemused, if exasperated. When Alfred showed no sign of backing down, he reluctantly descended from his climb and took his hand, pulling him easily out of the packed-in snow.

Alfred half-expected to receive a scolding for this. He knew he was being unreasonable. The mountain was dangerous, and pulling unnecessary stunts like this could cost them their lives. What he didn’t expect was for Ivan to suddenly embrace him.

“We’re almost there,” he said again, his voice muffled against Alfred’s hood as he pulled his cold, trembling partner into a bear hug. Oh _god_ he was so warm. Alfred thought he never want to let go as he clung tightly to Ivan, seeping greedily into his strength and warmth.

The mountain peak towered over them, topped with a fresh dusting of horrible, powdery snow. There was still some ways to go, but now Alfred could believe that they were almost there.


	4. Music to My Ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Pairing:** America/Japan  
>  **Line:** _"Where the fuck did that clown come from?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by [reincarnatedrainbow](http://tmblr.co/m83Sl2V_IMkN_vtKag1vinw). The line itself doesn't feature in the fic, but I like to think it brought out the theme nicely enough. Hope you like it (◡‿◡✿)

Alfred quickly unwrapped Kiku of his clothes. He shucked up his shirt, unclasped his belt, undid his flies and slid his hands into the waistband of his boxer shorts, pulling them smoothly down his legs. Kiku was still fighting to yank off his shirt when Alfred dipped down to kiss him between his legs.

He gave a gasp at that, his feet kicking out. He finally got his shirt shrugged off as Alfred grasped him by his thighs and kissed him again, tongue flicking out to lick the tip of his hardening cock.

Alfred gave a wide, white-teethed grin as his blue eyes searched out Kiku’s with a suggestive look. Kiku watched with bated breath, staring transfixed, as Alfred wrapped his lips around his cock and gave it a suck.

The young man wasn’t one for patience or foreplay. He had closed those magnificently blue eyes of his as he worked, swallowing down Kiku’s length with practiced ease, and Kiku fell back into the pillows with a sigh.

Alfred’s mouth was a warm, wet sheath around his arousal, with a talented tongue that was furiously mapping the texture of his cock. If he had a complaint for his young companion, it was perhaps that he moved rather too quickly and was a little careless with his teeth. But these were small complaints. As he bucked and raised his back into a delicious arch, pressing more of himself into Alfred’s pliant and eager mouth, a moan broke from his lips, low but distinctly pleasured.

He clasped a hand over his mouth, colour crawling up his face and down his neck. The walls were thin and his neighbours were going to hear him if he wasn’t careful. To his horror, Alfred had taken his groan as incentive to work even more enthusiastically than before. Pinning Kiku down by his thighs, he finished a hot, panting drag of his tongue along the underside of his cock before wrapping his lips over the tip once more, supping on the pale precum that had beaded there.

He held Kiku in a bright-eyed stare as he swallowed him whole and began to hum. Kiku bit into his lip to keep from crying out.

 _Music!_ he thought suddenly. _I can put on some music!_

It wouldn’t do much to stop himself from being so wanton, but it would mask the noise for his neighbours. Cheering on his brainwave, Kiku patted around for his mobile phone (it was never out of reach), flipped it open, tapped a few buttons to open up his Walkman, and hit play.

_Ra da da da da da da da circus!_

They both froze, Alfred mid-suck.

_Da da da da da da da da afro!_

Kiku was now fumbling to shut it off, cursing under his breath, but the phone buzzed merrily out of his hand and clattered to the floor, vibrating noisily along the hardwood.

_Circus afro! Circus afro!_

_Polka dot polka dot polka dot afro!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needless to say, the mood was royally ruined for Kiku. Alfred had a good laugh and was ready for Round 2 in almost no time, but Kiku wasn’t so Alfred had to jerk off on his own.
> 
> Happily, watching Alfred jerking off put Kiku back in the mood so all was well eventually.


	5. Sonata for a Good Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Pairing:** Prussia/Austria  
>  **Line of dialogue:** _"I’m lost._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anonymous. This grew into a little monster, about twice the word count of each line of dialogue requests so far, but I’ve been dying to write this scene forever man.
> 
> Set in 1940s Germany. If you’re interested, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aie_FOVKgfc) is the piece Roderich plays for Gilbert.

Hauptmann Weilschmidt had beckoned him over with a curt, “With me.” And Roderich had followed like a dog at its master’s heel, for what else was he to do but obey?

The Russians were advancing every hour, and it was no place for a civilian like himself to be alone.

He was made to climb into a jeep – engine already running – after the Hauptmann. The driver did not speak or acknowledge him; he simply put the vehicle into gear and drove off.

They left the campsite and made their way into the bomb-deserted town, the wheels sloshing over mud and slush. When they reached an unmarred stretch of road, the jeep practically glided over it, making tiny crunching noises as the tyres trod into virgin snow. The engine was so quiet that he could hear the noise of snow being squeezed of air. He marvelled to hear it. He turned to the Hauptmann to commend him of this, but something of his face made him swallow his words.

Bathed in moonlight, with tired eyes staring unseeing out the window, Hauptmann Weilschmidt cut for a strangely sympathetic figure that was not his usual brisk, commanding self.

They finished the ride in silence. Without prompt, the driver stopped in front of a shelled house and cut off the engine. Still he had not said a word. Hauptmann Weilschmidt ordered him to stay in the car, and the driver nodded his obedience into the rear view mirror.

“Come.” This one was directed to him. Roderich stepped out of the vehicle and jogged after the Hauptmann, who was walking quickly into the ruined house.

The place had been deserted for some time. The front door hung on rusty hinges that squeaked as it was pushed open. Inside, they could see that it had been stripped of valuables, and rather hastily. Anything that could be carried had been carried off, and only the furniture remained in dust and biting frost.

“Watch your step,” the Hauptmann said as they entered, his jackboots clomping noisily on the hardwood floor. Roderich picked his way after him, gazing warily about as they made their way towards the far end of the entrance hall.

When they reached a door, he knew without knowing how. He could feel the hairs rising on the back of his neck as he stared. Still, as it was slowly revealed to him, his breath caught in his throat.

A dusty shaft of moonlight fell on the solitary piano set in the middle of what must have been the drawing room. Every other piece of furniture had been cleared or smashed by an owner determined not to leave pickings for would-be looters, yet the piano stood where it did. Too heavy to carry off with, too beautiful to destroy, it simply stood untouched and alone.

He walked numbly over to it, feeling likely to weep.

There was a loud scraping sound as Hauptmann Weilschmidt dragged over the least broken piece of chair and set it in front of the piano. Wordlessly, he gestured for Roderich to sit.

He did not need a second invitation. Dropping into the proffered seat, he lifted the cover and stared at the perfect set of ivory keys before him. How many years has it been? Yet his fingers slid with a familiarity over them, easily finding their way again.

For a while he simply ran his hands over the keys, a blind man silently kissing the notes with his fingertips. Burst after burst of song sounded in his head. He could play anything he wanted, he thought, but what? What would he play?

He looked up at the Hauptmann, who stood half in moonlight and half in darkness. The Hauptmann had taken off his hat and dropped it onto the piano top, leaning one-handed on the side of the keys as he gazed expectantly at Roderich.

That haunted look was back on his face, and Roderich knew then what he had to play.

He dove into it. Softly, softly he began, coaxing himself into the melody as the broken chair creaked beneath his shifting weight. Then, as he found his way and with increasing vigour, he poured into building the notes, fingers stumbling a little in his haste but quickly correcting themselves. He closed his eyes as he felt the music once more, as it was meant to be felt – with all of his being. His hands danced over the keys, his fingers landing where they were meant to and hitting every note true.

_I’m lost_ , he thought as he played, as he made music again. _I’m lost, but he even more so._

That wormed its way into the composition.

The song ended before he knew it, and his fingers dropped abruptly from the keys. He curled them into tight little fists. If he had felt lost before, he felt even more acutely in the silence that followed; he did not know what to do with himself.

It was not until the Hauptmann lifted him by his chin and thumbed at his tears that Roderich realised he had been crying.

“It’s for you,” he whispered as the tears slid noiselessly down his face. “It’s for you, I meant it for y– ”

The Hauptmann cut him off with a kiss. It was hard, rough, clumsy even; it was heated and it seared, pained and desperate and frightfully lonely. Roderich let out a small sob as they briefly parted for air. Their lips came together again, and his hands found their way to the Hauptmann’s face, gently cradling it in his palms.

If he had been asked, he would have told him the name of the piece. But he was not, so he never did.


	6. A Summer's Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Pairing:** Russia/China  
>  **Line of dialogue:** _"Stop trying to cheer me up!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by [ladyknightofhollyrose](http://tmblr.co/m8IpRENh1AyVX-8TCMxGX0A). These requests are turning into an exercise on my own patience - I open up a blank document and write whatever, praying that it ends up coherent and actually interesting to read orz
> 
> It’s been so long since I wrote for RoChu, I only wish it was better ~~and had smut~~ QAQ

The air was fragrant with laundry detergent and the burning of sandalwood incense. Somewhere in the overgrown courtyard, a cicada was furiously singing its summer song. From where he lay idling on the floor, Ivan found that he had a good view of Yao, who was hanging out the laundry to dry in the afternoon sun.

Yao picked a final item from the basket and snapped it loose before draping it over the clothesline. He was shirtless, and his shoulder blades rolled together as he secured a few wooden pegs to the line. Sweat was beading over his dragon-tattooed back and sliding down his skin in a sensual display. He had his hair tied up, which Ivan always liked for it showed off the nape of his neck.

Having completed his chore, Yao turned around to head back into the shade of the house. He kicked off his slippers and stepped in barefooted, sprawling down to lie on the floor beside Ivan.

“Vanya, be a dear and go fetch me a drink,” he croaked.

Similarly disinclined to move any more than was necessary in the oppressive heat, Ivan only gave a noncommittal grunt and remained lying where he was. Now that the show was over, he closed his eyes with the intention of drifting back to sleep.

…He was rudely awakened by Yao who rose to slump across his stomach. “Oof!” he said.

“What’s this? Are you still sulking from last night?” Yao slyly asked. He had meant it as a bit of light ribbing, but Ivan only stiffened at his words.

“Get off, you’re heavy and it’s too hot,” he grumbled, pushing Yao aside.

Yao swept him with a reproachful look. “I think you need to cheer up,” he declared.

He lunged to tickle Ivan, who gave a startled yelp and started wriggling, laughing helplessly as he fought to defend his ticklish sides. “Stop trying to cheer me up!” he cried in between laughter.

When he finally got Yao to stop, he was glaring as childishly and petulantly as he wished he wasn’t feeling. He couldn’t help himself. It was true that he was still hung up from the night before and that he was being unreasonable. He didn’t want to burden Yao any further with it, but Yao was not prepared to let it go.

Turning serious once again, Yao fixed Ivan with a sharp-eyed stare.

“I’m sorry,” he said solemnly.

This only made Ivan feel even more miserable, and he hung his head, mumbling, “Don’t, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

Yao lifted Ivan by his chin, forcing him to look up. A bitter smile spread across his lips as he reached to stroke the side of Ivan’s face.

”You’re too good for me, Vanya,” he said.

Ivan slowly exhaled through his nose, savouring the feeling of his cheek warming under Yao’s hand. After a while, he took his hand and pulled it to his lips, brushing the back of his fingers with a gentle kiss.

In the garden, the cicada started up its song once again.


End file.
